I love the internet so much that if I were less monogomous, I would marry it. Look what I found.
I used to stand in the shadows of my bedroom and look across the hall to watch Dallas. My mum never said a word about it, but a lot of the time, the loungeroom door would gently close just to the point where I could no longer see the televison. Then, me and my friends discovered that you could hear our local television station on the radio. I have no idea how or why this happened, but it did, and I would huddle under my quilt with my radio tuned, lusting after Patrick Duffy’s chest and Victoria Principal’s thighs.
My mum was a very intelligent woman, but it’s her we can thank for my love of trashy television.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got more West Wing to watch. I’m up to the place of the significant death (I’m sure you all already know who and how, but just in case you don’t, I’ll be coy) so I’m going to skip a few episodes.